


the only reason

by loafers



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/pseuds/loafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"We have a song on our EP called The Only Reason. I wrote this song in LA with Steve Robson and Busbee. It’s pretty heavy, emotionally and lyrically…I was a bit of a wreck at the time. It’s kind of about that one person that you can’t help but… that thing. There’s that thing. You know what I mean?"</i><br/>- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dENWfAeMTXw">Michael on writing The Only Reason.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	the only reason

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr. the title, obviously, taken from 5sos' song the only reason. wouldn't exist without [sara's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/addictedkitten/pseuds/cyclogenesis) hand holding.

Luke collapses back on the big, luxurious bed in his room with a sigh. The mattress sinks underneath his weight, the soft down comforter feels like a cloud underneath him. The sheets are nice under his fingers, crisp and cool. It'd probably feel amazing to take a shower and scrub the months-long tour from his skin and crawl between the sheets naked and clean, but maybe later. Right now his limbs feel too heavy to move, his feet like concrete, hanging off the edge of the bed, still in his Vans. He reaches a hand towards his feet with some vague intention of removing them, but then lets it fall on his stomach. It feels heavy too, as well as his head, his eyelids.

He turns to the side and blinks slowly at the far wall, a glass sliding door leading to a small balcony. This is supposed to be a house but it just reminds Luke of all the hotels they've stayed in. Large, white and beige. The window is open a couple inches, letting in a breeze that disturbs the sheer curtains hung over it and carries the distant lazy-busy sounds of the city surrounding them. There's other, closer sounds; his mum in the kitchen down the hall unpacking groceries, the voices of the boys elsewhere in the house, but it's quiet and comforting, a true moment of peace after the constant demands of the tour. His eyes slip closed and he lets himself drift, sinking into the quiet, the soft bed. He's almost asleep when there's a splash and a shout that sounds like Calum close, confusingly so, until Luke remembers the mention of a pool outside.

It must be just below the balcony. He almost works up the energy to drag himself off the bed to investigate when he senses a presence, the strange niggling sensation he gets from being looked at. He turns his head and Michael's there, hovering in the doorway, his hand poised on the handle. Luke smiles and Michael glances towards the sliding door.

"You got a balcony?" Michael asks, wandering into the room and across to the door. Luke rolls over onto his tummy and watches him.

"Didn't you?"

"No, this is bullshit," Michael pouts and pulls the curtain back, revealing the endless blue sky and Los Angeles in small but still overwhelming scale below it. Luke hums and turns away. He's too tired to attempt to point out that he didn't get any say in picking rooms. Instead, he works on pushing his shoes off his feet with his toes.

"These rooms are so big," Michael says after a moment, the closeness of his voice a warning before he joins Luke on the bed, scooting up to lean against the oversized headboard.

Luke manages to prise the first shoe off his foot and makes quick work of the second, easier when he's got his toes free. He presses his face into the sheets and peers up at Michael with one eye, and then when he's feet are bare, he pulls his legs up and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself and grabbing for a pillow to stuff under his head.

The rooms aren't really that big, just bigger than they've gotten used to on tour in hotels and on the bus. It does feel weird though, all the space, all of them spread out. Luke's glad he's not the only one feeling it. It's the first time they haven't had to share pretty much ever which should feel like a gift. Instead, Luke squirms across the bed to be a little closer to Michael.

There's a squeal outside, a bigger splash and then the sound of thrashing joined by a sinister version of Calum's laugh. From the high pitched, nasal shouting it would seem that Ashton's been either pushed or pulled into the pool. Both Luke and Michael turn towards the open window but Luke's definitely not committed enough to get up and seemingly neither is Michael. It's old news anyway, the familiarity of Ashton and Calum tussling for dominance like big, wet dogs.

"Did you set up the Xbox?" Luke asks in case Michael's come looking for someone to play with him. Michael shakes his head, squirming down the headboard until he's flat on his back. Luke watches him blink at the ceiling and realises there's something off. Something more than just exhaustion. It makes Luke feel uneasy. Michael sighs and Luke bites his lip in an effort not to just ask him outright what's wrong. He knows better. Michael will deny anything unless you ask him the right questions, so Luke needs to keep quiet and let him figure out what those are first before he can help.

"Nah," Michael says and turns to face Luke, mirroring Luke's position, tucked up on his side. Luke scoots back a little on the pillow and pats the free space by his head in invitation. Michael squirms closer, his knees pressing against Luke's, his forehead just an inch from Luke's mouth now that they're sharing one pillow.

The closeness makes Luke feel strange the way it has for a few months now. It's two feelings; elation and a low key anxiety that borders on dread. He lets himself study Michael's face and tries to work out which feeling is winning in this particular moment, but it's impossible. Instead, he tries to think about what might be making Michael sad in effort to distract himself from the slow brush of Michael's long eyelashes against his cheeks as he blinks. It could be anything, and the quiet, under-the-surface melancholy suggests Michael's not sure either. Luke would do anything for him if he just asked.

Luke lets his eyes slip closed and breathes in a deep sigh, catching the familiar smell he's come to know as particular to Michael, and lets it comfort him.

"You're sleepy," Michael comments, "me too." His voice is soft, slurred. Almost a whisper. His knuckles bump against Luke's wrist. Luke feels like he could take Michael's hand and hold on and it'd feel nice, but doesn't because it's enough just being close like this. He hasn't had much Michael time lately, none of them have. He nods and hums in agreement, and satisfied with Michael close and relatively okay, physically intact at least, he lets sleep take him.

...

Luke doesn't mean to look at Michael's phone. He wakes up and Michael's gone but his phone is just there, abandoned not seconds ago judging by the way it's still lit up and open to Michael's messages. Perhaps that's what woke him, the disturbance as Michael got out of bed. His body immediately sensing the absence of Michael's, the missing warmth and the lack of Michael's metronome heart for Luke's to set its rhythm to.

Luke's not one to snoop and he wouldn't if he hadn't recognised the words before he could drag his eyes away. His heart thumps guiltily in his chest but he lets his eyes linger; the screen is open to a text conversation with 'haz' but there's no messages from him, only five or six consecutive ones from Michael. In one stolen second, he catches the words 'clingy' 'sorry' 'miss you', and then the screen finally, thankfully, goes black.

Luke rolls onto his back, his ears burning. He squints at the ceiling as he tries not to jump to conclusions. He knew they were close. He'd hardly even seen Michael on their own bus towards the end of the tour. When it was his turn to share a hotel room with Michael, no matter how late he waited up, one of the beds stayed made until morning.

He understands that the impending close of the tour and inevitable separation from the people they'd all grown so close to over the months hung over all their heads towards the end, but Luke hadn't felt compelled to remain glued to anyone from 1D's camp the way Michael had taken to Harry in the last weeks.

He saw them kiss once. They were all drunk. Harry had pushed him back, gentle and smiling, Michael giggling and caught. Luke had laughed, swallowed the lump in his throat, and dismissed it as nothing. Now, Luke's not sure if it was the start, the end, or somewhere in the middle, but it seems obvious it was a moment from a longer story he should have been paying more attention to.

The toilet flushes and Luke turns towards the noise in time to meet Michael's eyes as he steps out of the en suite. Michael's gaze flicks away and he wipes his wet hands down the thighs of his jeans.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he mumbles.

"You didn't," Luke lies automatically. He watches Michael's approach and judges it as self-conscious. Michael really has to reach to grab his phone from next to Luke, stretches across the big, rumpled bed to the middle where they must have been lying curled together pretty close.

Luke swallows and feels like Michael can tell he's been looking at his phone. It was an accident, Luke thinks, his guilt all too obvious in his urge to pre-emptively defend himself. If Michael would just tell him what's bothering him Luke wouldn't have to play detective anyway.

That makes him feel worse, Michael must not want him to know. Luke sighs and closes his eyes. That's the thing; Michael was so secretive about the whole thing. Sometimes, rarely, Michael would spend the evening with Luke in their shared hotel room watching a movie. He'd get undressed, get into bed, they'd say goodnight and turn off the light, but in the morning Luke would wake up alone. Michael's bed would be empty, his jeans gone from the heap on the floor where he'd shed them the night before.

"You going back to sleep?" Michael asks, standing by the side of Luke's bed now, thumbing through his phone again. His face looks tired and younger lit up in the dark by the blue-white glow. Luke wonders if Michael's checking to see if Harry's replied to him this time. Luke wishes Michael wouldn't hide things from him. Luke wishes Michael would just get back in bed.

Luke grunts an affirmative response and crosses his arms, rolls onto his side away from Michael like turning his back on him might hide the want and guilt and inappropriate curiosity.

Instead, Michael mumbles a goodnight and leaves Luke alone.

...

  
"Where are you going?" Luke asks the following evening. Michael looks pretty, hair purposefully fluffed up, dressed from his head to the toe of his shiny boots in all black. He pauses in the doorway of Luke's room and Luke catches a hint of Ashton's fancy-ass aftershave.

"Out," Michael smirks. _Secretively_ , Luke thinks with a frown. It's late to be going out, it's been dark outside for a good hour or so already.

"Where?"

"Dunno yet," he shrugs.

"Can I come?"

Michael's face cracks into a smile. "Don't be clingy," he says, which is fair, but he doesn't look like he means it anyway.

Luke huffs and pouts at the movie playing on his laptop, shifting sulkily further down into his pillows. "Fine. Did you ask Ashton if you could borrow his stuff?"

Michael's eyes widen and he rubs at his throat like he's attempting to wipe away the fragrance. "Shut up," he mumbles. Luke realises his jaw's all smooth, freshly shaven. Luke squints at him suspiciously and Michael drops his arm to his side. "Why, is it too much?" He asks after a moment, biting his lip self-consciously.

"No," Luke says and lets his eyes wander down the long line of Michael's body, slimmed by the black outfit so he seems taller, even. He wonders if maybe Harry is in town. He thought they all went back to the UK. Michael fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt. "You look good," Luke says honestly. It's dark in Luke's room, Michael probably can't see that he's blushing a little.

Michael grins, which looks even better on him than the black, and wedges his phone out from the tight pocket of his jeans. "Thanks," he says, smiling at his phone now instead of Luke. "I gotta go, my ride's here."

Luke wants to ask him who his ride is and where his ride is taking him but Michael's made it pretty clear he doesn't want to say so he pushes down the annoying, protective clingy urges and nods grumpily. "Okay," he says and turns back to his movie.

Michael pushes off the doorframe and disappears, calling out, "don't wait up," from down the hallway. Luke doesn't. He gave up waiting up for Michael months ago.

...

It doesn't take long the next morning until the pictures of Michael and Abigail Breslin are all over twitter. That's how Luke finds them anyway, scrolling through the endless tweets from fans about how much they love and hate them together. As a couple. Luke didn't even know they were talking.

He thinks, a little bitterly, that there hadn't been this kind of fuss in his Twitter feed about Michael and Harry, and in the pictures they posted they certainly weren't just exiting a restaurant together. But then, he hadn't assumed anything was going on either. Luke feels guilty.

He'd been kind of mad for a moment that Michael had hidden whatever had been going on with Harry, but maybe he hadn't been. Michael had never hidden the fact that he liked guys as well from any of them, anyway. Luke feels like an ass.

The pictures themselves are just as strange as the paparazzi pictures from when they first arrived in America, outside one of the Los Angeles venues. Michael looks great and Abigail looks great, but it's just weird to see any of them in that context, and especially when a celebrity gossip website has Michael slated as the young starlet's 'mystery companion'. At least they got the 'mystery' part right.

Luke texts a link to the pictures with a few wedding-themed emojis to Michael but doesn't hear back. It's not so weird, Mike and Ash are off writing today. They left way before Luke even woke up, but still Luke finds himself feeling restless and frustrated with the lack of reply.

...

It's easy to waste time with Calum and his mum. They wander the streets surrounding the house, exploring their new neighbourhood, which is mostly quiet, hilly streets with neat nature strips and lined with tall fences, concrete with wide gates across the drive way, sometimes iron work, sometimes heavy wood panelling. Luke likes the gates made of bars better so he can sneak a glimpse into the sprawling gardens behind them that lead to houses that can only be described as palatial in Luke's opinion, not unlike the one they're staying in.

They're in LA to write for a month before they rejoin the Australian leg of the One Direction tour. Luke hopes he gets used to it; the quiet, the spacious house, the time to think, breathe. It's time, finally, to really take in the enormity of how far they've come, but wandering the quiet streets in his ripped skinny jeans and thongs, Luke just feels out of place; a squatter in a life that can't really be meant for him. Can't last. Maybe he'll get used to it, but most likely they'll be moved on before that happens, like usual.

...

Michael never replies to his texts about Abigail and Luke starts to feel like he's made an ass of himself again, just like he'd done assuming that Michael and Harry's relationship had been wholly platonic. He tries to talk to Calum about it but Calum just comments on how hot Abigail is and how much he liked her in some movie Luke doesn't think he's seen, but is pretty sure actually starred Chloe Moretz. Calum moans about how they both need to get out of the house and get laid. It's still two days until it's their turn to write with John Feldman and Alex Gaskarth. Luke's trying not to think about it, lest he shit himself. He's with Calum, anyway, who's is definitely the most confident writer out of any of them, so Luke hopes he can hide mostly behind him.

The last thing Luke wants to think about when he's about to meet Alex Gaskarth is getting laid. He drops the subject and goes upstairs to watch Spongebob and think about texting Michael again.

That night, Liz makes spaghetti. It's their favourite, but only three of them are at the dinner table. Luke texts Michael to warn him he's missing out, and he gets a picture of the biggest burger he's ever seen in response. Ashton doesn't have answers either, and seems kind of weirded out by the earnestness with which Luke questions him about Michael's whereabouts. Ashton was supposed to bring him home.

After dinner, Ashton and Calum go for a run while Luke helps his mum with the dishes. Luke misses Michael and the quiet easiness of watching him kill stuff on his laptop. He sits next to his mum on the couch and watches some movie with Diane Keaton in it, his head on her shoulder, but it's not the same. She pats his knee, which is comforting, but the movie is boring. He's lonely and restless. He goes to bed before it's even ten o'clock.

...

Luke wakes up to Michael crawling into his bed, which is disorienting not because of the sudden and unexpected presence of another person in his bed, but because of the dizzying familiarity of the way Michael shakes his shoulder and whispers his name. It's just the same as the first time back in London, and the timeless nights that came after that first one. It takes Luke back, before the tour, before Harry, back to when it was just the four of them in London to write their first album. It's undeniable that things were simpler back then, but when Luke blinks his eyes open, Michael looks just the same as ever.

Michael's leaning over him, close enough that Luke picks up the alcohol on his breath. Michael leans back as Luke stirs, and Luke catches something else too, faint and unfamiliar but definitely perfume. It's floral, sickly sweet, and itches the back of Luke's throat. He prefers the scent of Michael's booze-breath.

"Just got home," Michael whispers. "What are you doing in bed? It's not even that late. Ash said you wanted me."

Luke's embarrassed. He rubs his nose with the heel of his hand and tucks his chin under the blankets. "Just didn't know where you were," he mumbles, voice deep and sleep-groggy.

"I was out for dinner, I told Ash," Michael says, picking at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans.

"Okay," Luke says, watching him. There's a moment of silence. It's wrong to think nothing's changed since London, since it was normal, even expected, then for Michael to join him in bed for secret just-for-them talks. It feels different now. Michael's hesitating. Luke's hesitating. He tries to remember how they got to that point and how they got from there to here, now, but he can't. Instead, he mumbles, "will you sleep here?" Not quite an invitation, but not totally not one either.

"Yeah," Michael says. Luke thinks it sounds relieved. Michael scrambles off the bed and out of his jeans, but leaves his singlet on. He doesn't brush his teeth, which is normal. Michael's lazy, and lazier when he's been drinking. Luke doesn't want him to disappear into the bathroom, anyway, in case something in there makes him reconsider staying.

Michael slips under the covers, his cold toes and bare legs invading Luke's body-warmed cocoon. He squirms close, clumsy and sheepish, huddling up against Luke's shoulder. It's nice. Michael breathes out again Luke's skin, warm and damp. His breath smells kind of sweet too. He was probably on silly girl drinks. He can't even drink in America. He must've been at someone's house, or hotel, or.

"Are you drunk?" Luke asks.

Michael frowns and ducks his head against Luke's shoulder, squirming under the covers like he's trying to get comfortable. "No," he says, his toes nudging Luke's ankle.

"Who were you with?" Luke asks. He can't help himself, and after going to sleep so early he's not tired now. The smell of perfume on Michael's skin is stronger with him close like this. Luke wonders if it wasn't so dark in the room if he'd be able to find any hickeys on Michael's skin, if he'd find his lips smudged pinker with lipstick. He wonders if Michael kissed anyone tonight, if he fucked anyone.

"A friend," Michael says vaguely, with a shrug.

"Abigail?"

Michael sighs. He sounds annoyed, like he's rolling his eyes. "No, what the fuck. Not Abi."

Who then? Luke swallows. Despite the perfume, it could be Harry. The thought makes his tummy turn a little. "Who," Luke wheedles.

"Danielle," Michael huffs.

"I don't know that person," Luke says, trying to place a Danielle.

"She's a friend of Harry and Lou's," Michael explains tersely. He's tense now by Luke's side, and Luke knows he's being irritating, he's being weird and clingy and he should shut up and enjoy Michael while he's got him, but. Michael's said Harry's name for the first time since they left the tour and Luke still really wants, wants to apologise or something, for not knowing. He doesn't know what he failed to realise then, not really, but he just. He doesn't want there to be so much distance. He wants Michael back. Back in his bed every night, like back in Lodon.

"Was Harry there?" Luke asks quietly, uncertainly. It's wrong.

"No, fuck!" Michael snaps and throws back the covers. Luke automatically sits up. Michael gets out of bed. "I'm going to my own room," he says, not looking at Luke.

Luke's heart is beating hard. He feels a little sick and a lot sorry but he just, doesn't know. "Okay," he says weakly.

"Cool." Michael grabs his jeans off the floor and marches out.

...

When Luke wakes up Michael and Ashton have already left for their second day of writing. He blinks against the sun streaming through the windows and stretches, freezing with his spine arched when he remembers how he fucked up with Michael the night before. He collapses, grumpy storm clouds rolling in over his cheerful mood. He's temped to just pull the blinds shut and stay in bed all day, but instead he drags himself out of bed and into the shower.

The house feels even bigger without all four of them filling it with noise and mess. It's quiet, empty, and unsettling. Time drags. There's things Luke could do. He turns down an offer to tag along sight seeing with his mum. Moping around the house is more appealing.

...

It's obvious the second Michael and Ashton get home late evening. Luke's drawn downstairs by the sound of familiar chaos like a moth to a flame. Fiery death doesn't wait for him though, just his three best friends, clustered around the kitchen bench. Calum is less draped over Ashton's back and more clinging to him, but Ashton's giggling about it, and Michael. Luke takes a deep breath, his stomach turning just looking at him.

"Feldmann is the coolest guy ever," Calum says decisively when he notices Luke in the doorway. Luke makes his way over to them, his barefeet patting on cold tile. Calum brandishes a bottle aloft like he used to his soccer trophies; a victory in illicit teenage debauchery.

"You're back," Luke says, reaching up to take the bottle from Calum's hand, freeing Calum to wrap other arm around Ashton as well.

"Luke said he should hate me today," Calum mumbles sulkily against Ashton's shoulder. Luke frowns, watching the muscles in Calum's tan arms shift as he squeezes Ashton's waist.

"Lucas," Ashton gasps, a reprimanding look on his face, his hands patting Calum's arms around him protectively.

"I just meant, since we've been," Luke trails off weakly and inspects the label of the bottle until Michael yanks it out of his hands.

"No whiskey for you then," Michael says and pours generously into three red cups lined up on the bench. Beside him there's a six pack of beer. Luke wonders what his mum would think. Two of them are eighteen at least, so probably not much. "Bitchy little babies don't get booze," Michael mumbles and the other two giggle.

Luke frowns. It's a little uncalled for, especially since it's such a pointed dig. Luke tries not to let it get under his skin. He knows Michael knows how much he hates being the youngest. "Okay," he says, training his face carefully blank. Michael doesn't react, his shoulders square. He turns away from Luke to hand Ash and Calum their drinks, Calum relinquishing his hold on Ashton's waist to take his.

Luke bites his lip and leans his hip against the counter as he watches them knock their plastic cups together and throw back the shot, cheering and gasping after.

Ashton's face is still screwed up from the burn down his throat when he turns to Luke. "Now one for Lukey!"

"No, it's okay," Luke says and looks past him to meet Michael's eyes, who at least has the sense to look a little guilty, his gaze darting to the cup in his hand.

Ashton laughs. "Come on," he says.

But Michael cuts in, "fine, more for us." He snatches up the bottle and shoves past Luke to head outside to the pool. Luke rolls his eyes and goes back upstairs, ignoring Ashton and Calum calling after him.

...

Luke gives it about an hour before he gives in to the sounds of the mini pool party coming from below his balcony. He strips to his bathers and stops by the kitchen to pull the beers out of the fridge on his way outside. Michael's sitting by the edge of the pool filming while Ashton appears to be attempting to drown a thrashing Calum in the deep end. He scrambles up off the tiles when he hears Luke slip through the sliding doors.

He smiles hazy and bright, in that unfocused three-drinks-down cheerful kind of way. Luke smiles back but smaller and more cautiously. Michael's still dressed but his skinnies are rolled up to the knees. He takes the beers from Luke, wraps his arms around him and presses a sloppy, booze-scented kiss to his cheek.

"Sorry f'being a dick," Michael mumbles, lips still moving against Luke's cheek, close to Luke's ear so Luke can hear him over the blast of classic Zeppelin that was surely Ashton's choice. Michael's stubble tickles and Luke blushes, shrugs him off. Michael doesn't wait for him to accept it, mostly because he probably knows Luke forgave him forty minutes ago.

Michael grabs his cup from beside the pool and presses it into Luke's hands. There's not much left in the bottom of it but Luke smiles gratefully and sips it, swallows down the whiskey burn as Michael tries to bash the beer open on the edge of the concrete.   
Luke's sure he's going to smash it and cut himself but he leaves him to it. He walks across the wet concrete to the deepest end of the pool and sets the cup on the edge before stepping off the edge, letting himself sink until he hits the bottom. Before he's even surfaced he can hear Calum and Ashton cheering his name and when he re-emerges grinning into the warm night air, they're both splashing over to crush him between their wet bodies.

...

It's a nice night. Luke swallows the last mouthfuls of liquor from Michael's cup and then takes the beer Ashton hands him, more whiskey in his cup after that and soon he's floating, literally and figuratively, draped over the floaty in the middle of the pool, eyes closed, fingertips and feet trailing in the water as he spins in lazy circles, LA air warm on his skin and alcohol-laced blood warm in his veins.

Michael's hot and cold towards him the rest of the night. He sticks to the edge of the pool, playing bartender for the others and demanding cuddles and cheek kisses in exchange for drinks and mostly getting splashes of water to his face. Luke tries to steer clear of him, keeping Ashton and Calum in between them as a buffer. He can see Michael's foul mood lingering in the way he laughs too hard and loud, the way he drinks too quick, the way his fingers curl under the edge of the pool, his nails scraping the concrete as he kicks water maliciously at Calum for trying to coax him into the pool.

...

Once Ashton's had enough to drink he begs off to drunk dial his friends back home and of course, Calum doesn't stay long in the water after Ashton's gone. Despite Michael's efforts and whining their little party is wrapping up. The music shuts off. Calum pulls his shirt back on. Michael pours another drink.

Luke lingers in the pool even after Michael's followed Calum inside, listening to the faint sound of Ashton's giggle coming from inside the house. It makes him smile. It's getting chilly, a cool breeze picking up, coaxing goosebumps to the surface of his damp skin and pebbling his nipples.

He's just begun to consider the effort of making his way out of the pool and into the warmth of the house when he hears the sliding door open again, surprised when he opens his eyes to see Michael by the edge of the pool, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his thighs.

"Hey," Luke says in a hazy kind of way. Michael's a bit wobbly, or Luke is, or both of them. Most likely both, by varying degree. Michael kicks his jeans off his foot and Luke's heart beats hard in his chest for the precarious second it takes to ensure Michael's not going to overbalance and brain himself on the concrete. He stands up straight and pulls his t-shirt off over his head, and then he's just in his undies.

His pale skin practically glows in the low light that leaks from inside the house as he descends the steps at the shallow end of the pool and slips into the water quietly, wading out towards Luke until it's too deep and he has to swim. His stroke is half way between doggy paddle and breaststroke, his blond head held determinedly above the water. Luke laughs a bit at him and then stops himself, remembering he shouldn't give Michael any more reasons to be mean, but he thinks he's probably safe now that it's just the two of them.

"Share," Michael demands when he reaches Luke, tugging on the side of the floaty Luke's still draped over, his wet fingers squeaking against plastic.

"Okay," Luke agrees and tries to move over but he just falls off. Floaties weren't made for two. Michael tries to scramble up on top of it but he's too clumsy about it and the floaty just pops out from under him, slapping against the water where it lands just out of arms reach. Michael swears and scowls at it.

They're practically in darkness down the deeper end of the pool, far away enough from the light that spills out through the sliding door that it doesn't reach them. It shines and glints off the tiny waves their bodies make as they disturb the surface of the water with their irritatingly human need to keep afloat, but then evens out and smooths over before the light can touch them, settles back into the watery golden reflection of the living room.

"I'm too drunk for this," Michael announces. Luke watches him bob over the edge of the pool and wrap his fingers around the frame of the ladder. Luke's toes just skim the bottom of the pool here. It's not that deep, but Michael's had a lot more to drink than him.

"You wanna get out?" Luke asks, letting his chin sink under to feel the cool water lap against his lips.

Michael wraps his free arm around his middle and says, "I just got in," eyeing the pool like he regrets it.

Luke smiles. "I won't let you drown," he promises, only half teasing.

"Shut up, it happens!" Michael insists and sends a weak sort of splash Luke's way. Luke makes no effort to avoid it. He raises his eyebrows and then makes his way over to Michael, his arms pushing through the water confidently. He feels like he probably could save Michael from drowning. He'd definitely try. He's totally strong enough to pull him out of the pool, but probably not enough to give him mouth-to-mouth by the way he's blushing just thinking about it. Life and death, though. It's not kissing. Kissing.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Luke asks, his voice faltering before he's even finished getting the question out.

"What?" Michael's voice makes it clear how dumb a question he thinks that is and Luke's grateful for the low lighting so Michael can't see how bad he's blushing. Grateful for the water, too. In case he needs to drown himself.

"No," Michael says. He's looking at him like he doesn't want to talk about it. Luke almost apologises for asking and then Michael says, "Alex is so hot."

"Gaskarth?" Luke frowns.

"Yeah, he's so fucking funny. He's so cool. It was like," Michael closes his eyes, dopey smile on his face like he wants to grab his chest and swoon.

"Crazy that we get to work with him," Luke supplies.

"Yeah," Michael agrees, opening his eyes. "So crazy. He said he likes my voice. Do you think he'd hook up with me?"

"Uhh." Luke swallows, unprepared entirely for this conversation no matter how much he's had to drink. "I don't know," Luke manages lamely.

Michael stretches his arm out, keeps his hand anchored to the ladder but lets his body drift in the water, his legs making lazy circles under him as he tips his head back, eyes to the dark sky shining so prettily."Jess thinks I have a chance," he says.

Luke's struggling to keep up especially with how he keeps getting lost in the way that the light and the water makes Michael look like some kind of celestial Disney princess. "Jess?"  
  
"Yeah, she was in town. She came by this afternoon."

It doesn't immediately register who Michael's talking about but there's something in his tone, something guarded, that takes Luke back to just after they'd left Australia for the first time. To too many drinks and Michael curled up small beside him, a secret confession about who he lost his virginity to and how he's been miserable in love with her since.

"Oh," Luke says. Last he heard Jess was dodging Michael's calls. Kind of like those unanswered texts to Harry Luke saw totally by accident.

"You think I'm such a slut," Michael says, managing to make it sound wry even with the edges of his words slurring together. He won't meet Luke's eyes, staring down into the water with something like shame. Luke frowns and starts to shake his head - he doesn't, he couldn't ever think badly of Mikey, ever - but Michael waves him off. "I'm dizzy," he announces and lets his eyes slip closed.

He tips his head back and sinks far enough under the water that, worried, Luke kicks over to him and catches hold of his arm. Michael blinks his green eyes open, wide like he's startled by Luke's closeness, his touch. "You wouldn't let me drown," Michael says kind of distractedly, a fond look crossing his face.

"No," Luke agrees with a smile and adjusts his grip. He focuses on his fingers wrapped around Michael's arm, hyper-aware of Michael looking at his face - not looking, studying. A searching kind of looking, his eyes dragging over Luke's features, lingering on his mouth.

"You should," Michael says and then just shifts closer, relinquishing his hold on the ladder to curl his arm around Luke's neck, pulling himself close against Luke's chest. Luke accommodates him, slips his arm around Michael's waist to hold him securely. Michael rests his head on Luke's shoulder and sighs. Luke likes it. He feels good, Michael seems less troubled like this. Maybe it's the booze.

"We wrote a song," Michael mumbles lazily, barely moving his lips at all against Luke's wet skin.

"That's good. What's it about?" Luke's squeezes Michael's waist and gets his other hand on him too. It's a proper cuddle now, Luke can tell, even up-right and submerged.

Michael laughs but it sounds unhappy. "It's like, really," he trails off and turns his face against Luke's throat like he's trying to hide. "I've just been feeling," he mumbles there. Luke strokes his palm up Michael's back, curls his hand around the base of Michael's neck and rubs his thumb back and forth over his skin. "Y'know, stuff," he mumbles, but the words are almost lost in a heavy sigh. Luke doesn't know if he can manage the weight of it as well as that of Michael's body. Maybe they'll both drown.

"It's okay," Luke mumbles lamely. He's not good at words, that's why he doesn't often write, but he can use his hands, his body, his lungs and voice. "There's a lot going on."

"So much, you don't even know," Michael says. He's right, Luke doesn't, but he tries not to feel it like a failure on his part. Michael puts his hand on Luke's shoulder, turns his head to watch his fingers trace the line of Luke's collarbone. It makes Luke shiver; it's ticklish, the touch of Michael's fingertip so gentle, brushing up his throat and along his jaw. Luke glances down at him, and Michael's just so close, right there, mouth curved into a soft smile. He looks so pretty, his eyelashes lowered to watch the movement of his fingers.

"You're so pretty," Luke tells him. Michael's smile stretches a little wider and he flutters his eyelashes up at Luke. Luke knows he'd deserve it if Michael made fun of him right now, but Michael doesn't, just laughs gently and closes his eyes, cups Luke's jaw and tilts his face up to kiss him.

It lingers for a few seconds. Long enough for Luke to register the soft pressure of it and the coolness of Michael's lips warming quickly against his own. It's strange, the awareness of what's happening, that he's kissing Michael, it seems both distant and inescapable at the same time. It doesn't occur to Luke that he has the option to pull away, it happens too quick for Luke to think beyond the immediacy of the feeling; lips, breath and warmth, and then Michael's pulling away and it's over.

They come out of it slowly. Luke watches Michael open his eyes and lick his lips and then Michael withdraws further, reaching back behind himself for the ladder. Luke wants to follow, keep close skin to skin contact, but the loss of Michael's body against his own allows for questions and doubt start to creep in between them, so he stays rooted to the spot.

Luke's lips are tingling. Michael isn't looking at him, but he has a faint kind of smile on his face. Luke doesn't really know what to think about it. "We," Michael fumbles the word, swallows, "I should go to bed," he says and then finally meets Luke's eyes. He looks kind of sheepish. Luke's already starting to doubt whether they actually kissed at all.

"Yeah," Luke agrees and Michael looks grateful, relieved. He turns away, mounts the ladder and hoists himself up out of the water. Luke can't help but watch Michael's body as it emerges; his underwear clinging to his skin, the weight of the sodden fabric dragging down the waistband to reveal the top of Michael's ass, no tan line on him like Cal and Ash, just endless pale skin.

Michael steps out onto the concrete and catches Luke looking with a glance thrown over his shoulder. He blushes and quickly looks away again as he adjusts his wet underwear to cover himself. "Night," Michael mumbles.

Luke manages a little splashing wave in response, and then remembers at the last second, the urgency of the thought crashing out of his clumsy, kissed mouth before he can even think. "You're not a slut," he calls after him, jarring in the quiet stillness. Michael's back tenses and his step falters, but he doesn't turn around, doesn't come back.

Luke feels embarrassed, regretful, and something else - something strange as he watches Michael's funny little soggy limp towards the house. It's a warm feeling, kind of queasy in his tummy. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs up before he ducks under the water. He exhales as he sinks, letting the air out in tiny bubbles, bending his knees and letting his arms float beside him. He opens his eyes, blinks through the watery haze at the light set into the side of the pool, and realises it's want that he's feeling. A tug in his belly wanting skin against his own, the weight of a body above him. He closes his eyes again and it's Michael there in his mind, pushing him down on his big, soft bed and pressing hot kisses to his throat.

Luke gets his legs under himself and a panicked kick off the bottom of the pool sends him reaching for the surface. He's gasping when he breaks out of the water. He grabs the side of the pool and squeezes his eyes shut as he catches his breath, his fingers holding tight to the concrete edge. Behind his closed eyelids, all he sees is Michael's mouth, Michael's hands.

...

It's the day that Luke is going to meet one of, if not his biggest musical influence, and general hero of all time, Alex Gaskarth, and somehow that's not the most daunting thing on his mind. He's reached a kind of zen-like state about coming face to face with Alex Gaskarth. It's happening. The thought of running into Michael, on the other hand, is enough to make Luke break out into a cold sweat. Luke's just not ready yet to face that thing that happened the night before in the bright light of day. Probably won't ever be, so it's best to postpone it anyway.

The car is coming to take him and Calum to the studio at ten thirty, so Luke remains motionless under his covers until ten even though it's been hot enough overnight make his back damp, skin sticking to the sheets with sweat. He needs a shower, but he can hear someone's in there, the house quiet enough that the dull sound of the shower running echoes down the hall, so bed is the best place for him.

It's safe in bed, but he can't stay there forever. As soon as he hears the hair dryer shut off, he gets up. His body feels heavy, clumsy. He puts his hands on his hips and stretches his back deep enough to crack it, which makes him feel a little better but his head still feels foggy. It's the booze, probably. He shouldn't have drank so much, not before a writing day. He shakes his arms a bit and rubs his hand over his face. He's still tired. Being upright is so overrated.

Sighing, he moves to the door and takes a peek out into the hall. It's not on fire, there's not even screaming. It's the same as ever, even though he's meeting Alex Gaskarth today. Even though he. He takes a breath and tries not to think about kissing.

Luke steps out of his room, and down the hall Calum emerges from his own, all freshly primped. Luke can tell immediately he's put an effort in, and it's been worth it. Calum looks good. Luke doesn't think there's enough time in the world to make himself look nice enough to meet Alex Gaskarth. Alex. He should probably just start trying to refer to him as Alex, even in his head. It'd be weird if he called him Alex Gaskarth when he, oh god, talks to him.

Luke swallows as Calum approaches him tapping his writing notebook against his chest. He smiles at Luke and raises his eyebrows and his hand. Luke gives him a sleepy high five as he passes, and shuffles along to the bathroom.

He has to be quick so he doesn't have time to think. It's autopilot; run the water, strip, get in, scrub, rinse, get out, towel - towel? Damnit, hand towel. Luke meets his own eyes in the expanse of the mirror over the bathroom counter, trying not to look at his mouth in case Michael's left some evidence there. He dries off best he can, skinny jeans are hard to wrestle wet legs into, but there's only so much he can do with such a small towel.

He has no time for his hair. It'll have to remain unquiffed and stuffed under a beanie where it'll probably dry curly. At least _he_ won't have to worry about Alex wanted to hook up with him. Not that he - well. Maybe that's a distressing consideration for another time.

The hallway is blissfully deserted as he scampers, naked, back to his room to dress, but the kitchen isn't. He makes his way downstairs with five minutes to spare, and the three of them are lounging around the breakfast bar. Even Michael, which stops Luke dead in his tracks. It's practically unheard of for Michael to be out of bed when he doesn't have to be, especially after a night of drinking.

Whatever conversation they were having falls silent so quick that it makes Luke falter on the last stair, suddenly aware of the tight little ache at the base of his skull. They look up at him in creepy unison, Ashton and Calum grinning while Michael looks quickly back down at the coffee cup in his hands. The sound of his Vans hitting the floorboards as he hops off the last stair is loud in the silence.

"Morning!" Ashton chirps, swinging around the bench to tuck his arm around Luke's shoulders.

"Ash, come on," Michael grumbles, huddling himself down into the hunch of his shoulders, sleeves tucked over his hands as he clutches his cup, like maybe he wants to crawl into it. Luke shrugs Ashton off and Ashton claps a hand on Michael's shoulder instead. Michael flinches, "I'm trying to have a hangover here," he snaps.

"Hydrate," Ashton says meaningfully, still loud even though he's got the side of his face pressed against Michael's.

"I fucking hate you," says Michael. Luke gives them both a wide berth as he reaches for the stash of first aid stuff his Mum keeps stocked on top of the fridge, the thundering of his heart making his headache less bearable. Calum sidles up to him at the sink with a glass and Luke takes it gratefully, fills it and throws back a couple of painkillers, gulping down the entire glass and then refilling it and drinking that too.

Ashton and Michael are still squabbling behind them, but Luke tries to tune them out, cling to his zen Alex-related feelings, staring into the sink as the drips slide slowly closer together, converging at the edge of the drain and trickling away. Luke wouldn't mind joining them, probably. Calum bumps his shoulder against his. "You ready?"

Luke swallows and places the glass in the sink. "Yeah," he says. He's not, but he never will be, and that's really become a major running theme in his life. He wasn't ready for their first show, wasn't ready for the first tour, or the first trip to London. He wasn't ready for arenas. But he did it and it was fucking scary and it was fine. So he's going to hang out with Alex Gaskarth and write some songs and just like on stage, Calum will be right there with him, and it'll be fine.

"Boys!" Liz calls from the deck that overlooks the drive-way, just as a car horn sounds. Calum collects his notebook from the bench and Luke checks his pockets for his phone and wallet. All there, he slides his sunglasses on and follows Calum out the front door as Ashton yells his goodbyes after them, Michael groaning and punching him.

...

It's a beautiful Los Angeles day. It reminds Luke a lot of the summer back home, a harsh dry heat that he finds himself just wanting to lie in, roast himself under the sun like a lizard. It's bright in the car, but the sunglasses and the panadol is enough to stave off the lingering ache of having drunk a little too much last night.

He leans his head against the window and closes his eyes and refuses to think anymore about Last Night. He could sleep again. The glass is warm and the car is stuffy in a pleasant, comforting kind of way. It's too hot for beanies and skinny jeans probably. Calum reaches across the back seat and pats Luke's shoulder, hand slipping down to wrap around his arm gently, thumb stroking back and forth under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Sleepy?" Calum asks, his voice soft.

"Mm," Luke agrees. The world outside passes by; shops, people, cars. Luke thinks about telling Calum what happened with Michael in the pool, or maybe even just about how weird Michael's been acting lately. Luke's not even sure that he could make the words come out of his mouth to say that they kissed, that Michael kissed him. Would he then have to tell Calum that he thinks he liked it? The facts are that Michael kissed him and then later, in his bed, Luke came into a hasty handful of tissues biting his lip hard to stop himself from whimpering as he recalled the taste of Michael's mouth.

He couldn't tell Calum that. He can't tell Calum anything.

"You didn't have breakfast," Calum says. Luke knows he's blushing now, but when he glances over from behind the cover of his sunglasses, Calum's got his eyes on his phone. He gives Luke's arm a squeeze and then lets it go. "Ash said Feldmann makes these amazing smoothies."

Luke's tummy grumbles.

...

John Feldmann really does make amazing smoothies, and they come with an earnest discussion about the benefits of a vegan diet. "Taking care of your body is totally punk rock," John says as Luke watches him add some chopped banana and almond milk to the blender. Luke's ready to convert. Luke would do anything John suggested at this point, he's so fucking cool. He's like the cool uncle Luke never had, but also in an awe-inspiring musical genius kind of way.

Calum and Alex are in the other room where they left them, and the sudden loud whir of the blender drowns out the soft sound of their voices and their guitars, and brings John's dog in to investigate. She sniffs Luke's bare toes and then gives them a lick. Luke shuffles his feet away and she moves on, looking up at John hopefully as he assembles the glasses. John gives her an absent pat on the head and she licks at his hand. Luke kind of misses his dog back home.

"Smoothie break!" John calls and Luke follows him back into the other room dutifully carrying two of the smoothies, and hands one to Alex. God, he can't believe he just handed Alex Gaskarth a smoothie.

"Sounds good guys," John comments. Luke folds himself down into a chair and sips his smoothie.

"You're like, the king of smoothies," Calum says, taking an enthusiastic gulp.

"He prefers God of Smoothies," Alex says and Luke giggles, probably not unlike a schoolgirl with a crush, god. But Alex doesn't pick on him for it, because Alex is cool, just like Michael said.

Luke watches Alex laugh over the rim of his glass like a big creep, and decides maybe Alex would hook up with Michael. It's a strangely distressing thing to consider but he's been trying to figure it out anyway. He seems pretty straight, but Luke's not been a very good guesser of sexualities lately considering even his own is maybe sort of coming into question. Luke can't tell. No one can tell, can they? Until you're a little drunk and kissing in a pool.

...

They write a pretty good song, or at least the makings for one, and then after the break for lunch they go into the studio to record some vocals. This is Luke's least favourite part. Just him and a microphone and a big window through which he can totally see Calum, with Kuma on his lap, John and fucking Alex Gaskarth watching him. The worst part is he can't hear them - he can't hear whatever it is that Calum says to Alex that makes him laugh, both of them glancing at Luke through the window. There's not even any backing track, it's just his voice.

"You ready?" John's voice comes through the headphones. Luke wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and picks up the lyrics sheet off the music stand in front of him and tries to ignore the way the tremor in his hand makes the paper shake. He glances up, searching for Calum's eyes, and Calum sticks his tongue out and waves Kuma's paws at him. Luke laughs, biting his lip, and when he looks down the paper is still.

...

When he steps out of the booth, Alex, John and Calum are clapping. Luke can't stop himself from smiling. Calum hugs him like he's just completed some heroic quest instead of just done a bit of singing which is actually his job now and shouldn't be a big deal. Luke pats his back and Alex tells him, "that sounded so sick," and Luke feels his face heat up, which just makes him blush even _more_. He's so embarrassing.

Calum's humming what sounds like might be the bass line from the song, the song's still echoing through Luke's head too. It's good, and Luke can't wait to hear it all come together. It's a slower, more intense kind of song.

It's Calum's turn in the booth. Luke slumps down onto the couch as Calum gets up, telling him, "be nice to Kuma," who noses at Luke's thigh. Luke rests his hand on her head, stroking behind her ears, and she closes her eyes.

Summoning all his courage, Luke asks Alex, "did you write that?"

"Nope," Alex replies, "it's one Mike brought in, he said he'd worked on it with Robson and busbee before."

"Oh, right," Luke says. It's weird he hasn't heard the song before, especially since it's so solid and close to being done. It's like Michael's been keeping it a secret, which makes Luke feel strange and curious.

"We did Mike's vocals for the first verse the other day," Alex says, pulling a laptop and headphones into his lap, "it sounds great, do you wanna hear?"

Luke nods and shifts closer, taking the headphones and putting them on, and Alex starts the track. There's a second of silence, and then the low, clear sound of Michael's voice is filling his ears. He fights the urge to close his eyes, but he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine. It sounds good, Michael's voice deeper than Luke's ever heard it before. It just makes the lyrics wrap themselves even tighter around Luke's throat.

The track ends and Luke blinks, asks, "can I hear it again?" Alex obliges him, and Luke lets himself close his eyes this time, imaging Michael alone in the booth, bringing his own words to life in the song, harnessing whatever inspired the words. Luke can hear the feelings in his voice; pain, confusion. It makes Luke sad. He takes off the headphones and hands them to Alex, the last of the track coming through small and tinny from them. "Thanks," he says, throat tight. Alex smiles.

"You guys are a good team. He had the whole chorus worked out for you, he said you'd sound great on it and he was right," Alex says. Luke bites his lip, thinks about Michael and his guitar, working out the sound of the chorus and how to make his own voice sound best on it. "It'll sound awesome with your vocals coming in after Mike's, the contrast. Your voices work well together."

In the booth, Calum sings Michael's second verse, his voice low and sweet. It makes the lyrics sound hopeful, adoring, and Luke can't help but think Michael gave those words to Calum on purpose. Michael knows them so well. Luke feels proud of how carefully and thoughtfully he's constructed this song, giving them all the right parts to make both them and the song shine.

"He's really talented," Luke tells Alex, and hopes Michael knows it too.

...

Luke finds Michael in his own room. It's dark, and Michael's under the covers. Luke creeps in and climbs onto the bed, crawling on hands and knees over to Michael curled up on his side facing the wall. He hovers over him, but Michael doesn't stir. He could be asleep. He's a pretty heavy sleeper, Luke knows from all their nights together.

"We recorded some demo vocals," Luke whispers, continuing when Michael doesn't respond, "for your song."

"It's not my song," Michael mumbles.

Luke sits back. He knew Michael was awake. "You wrote it," he says.

"I wrote it for you," Michael says and rolls over to face Luke, "I mean, for your voice," he mumbles. "Thought it would sound good."

Luke swallows. "Alex said it sounded good. It's good, I like it." Hesitantly, Luke lowers himself down on the bed, a good person-sized space between them. Luke wonders if Michael will let him sleep here. His pillow is soft and Luke's tired, and everything just smells so good and comforting, so much like Mikey. "The lyrics are nice."

"Nice?" Michael looks at him, eyes shining in the dark, and Luke feels stupid. The lyrics aren't _nice_ , they're good, but they're not nice. They're kind of sad, but the words are nice. They don't sound like anything Luke's known Michael to write before.

"What's it about?" Luke asks, which is stupid because the lyrics aren't exactly vague and he should be trying harder not to be annoying with how last time Michael ended up storming off. They're in Michael's bed this time so he can't leave, he'd have to tell Luke to go and god, just the thought of it is making Luke's chest ache.

Michael doesn't yell at him, though. He just sighs. "You know how sometimes there's just, this one person and no matter what or who you try to, like, be with, you can't move on. You keep coming back to one person for some reason," Michael says, looking at Luke. Luke's throat feels tight, and his arms just want to wrap around Michael and hold him. Luke can't stand it when Michael's sad. "And you can't be with that person either, and it's just frustrating," Michael says weakly, looking and sounding smaller than he has in a long time.

Luke wants to ask who it's about, there's too many options to really guess. Harry, Jess. Maybe even Abigail, or Alex. Or someone back home, like Geordie. Someone's got Michael's heart all tangled up and Luke just wants to fix it. "Why can't you be with them?" Luke asks.

"I don't know," Michael says, "maybe they don't feel the same."

Luke opens his arms and Michael squirms across the bed into them. It makes Luke feel less useless to hold him. "Thanks," Michael mumbles against his chest. Luke presses a kiss against his hair, squeezing him, stroking his hand over Michael's back, his bare skin warm under Luke's palm.

"Have you asked them?" Luke asks, because it's really just hard to imagine anyone rejecting Michael, rejecting this part of Michael, soft and sweet and affectionate, the sweet feelings he puts into song. Anyone would be lucky to have Michael.

Michael shakes his head, his hands curling into fists against Luke's chest. "You should," Luke tells him. It's dumb advice, whatever is going on must be more complicated than that, but Luke's always been a feelings first kind of guy. Well, once he figures them out.

Michael nods and draws back a little, tips his head up so his nose bumps Luke's jaw, and then his mouth. It's soft, not quite a kiss, so Luke leans in and makes it one. Michael sighs and slips his arm over Luke's waist, settling in against his body, his soft lips parting against Luke's. Luke feels dizzy and warm, kisses Michael to take the pain away, take and bear some of it himself. It's not right but if it will help he'll let it happen, he'll do this for Michael.

It stays soft, sweet, the tips of their tongues brushing and retreating, a warm caressing of lips. Luke lets Michael draw it out, lets him take what he needs from him. When it ends, Luke's lips feel tingly and he's a tiny bit breathless. Michael sighs, his breath warm and damp against Luke's mouth. Luke squeezes his hip, notices that his voice is a little lower when he says, "it's okay, but you shouldn't kiss people if you want someone else."

Michael hesitates and then buries his face against Luke's throat, arm tightening around his waist. He nods and Luke strokes his hair. "Don't go," Michael mumbles. It's pathetic and sweet and sad, the sound of his voice so small and needy. Luke hugs him, his nose buried in Michael's soft hair. He never wants to let him go.

"I'll stay," Luke tells him. Michael sighs, and his grip loosens a little. Luke doesn't even get up to take his jeans off, just stays there, holding Michael close, safe and warm in Michael's bed.

...

Luke wakes up slow, the sound of his phone alarm buzzing in his pocket working its way in through his warm comfy semi-conscious daze to rouse him. He goes for his phone before he opens his eyes, thumbs off the alarm by feel, and when he opens his eyes, Michael is there. Luke starts, not used to waking up with another person so close these days, and they are close, have moved in the night but not much, untangled their arms from one another but stayed near. Michael exhales slow and soft through his nose, so close on the pillow they're sharing that Luke can feel it.

The room glows with the soft, low light, the heavy drapes pulled permanently closed over Michael's windows muting the bright early morning sun. It makes everything feel warm, intimate, close. Michael's right there, just inches away. They kissed again - that's what Luke's thinking as he looks at him, just looks. Takes advantage of Michael's being asleep, it's rare that he gets to look at Michael like this without being mocked for staring. He's so still, the only movement the occasional flicker of his eyelids, the skin there so thin and delicate. He looks vulnerable, young, pretty - his eyelashes dark against cheeks.

A stray beam of light slices across Michael's jaw to catch on the slight fuzz of stubble there. Luke touches without thinking, hair prickling against the very tips of his fingers as he sweeps them down Michael's jaw. It's such a contrast to the lush, pink curve of Michael's mouth, his lips warm and dry, slightly chapped. Luke rubs his thumb over Michael's bottom lip and remembers the soft catch of it against his own. Michael stirs, a little crease appearing between his brows, the whole moment wrecked by Luke's clumsiness.

Luke withdraws his hand and Michael opens his eyes, beautiful sleepy pale green. He raises his eyebrows and turns his face against the pillow, coughs once and wriggles a little closer to Luke in the process. "Hey," he says, morning gravel in his voice.

"Hi," Luke whispers back. Michael's lips stretch into a wide soft smile and he reaches his curled fist up to bump his knuckles up under Luke's chin. It tickles, Michael's fingers curling there. Luke has no stubble for Michael to feel, so he reaches for Michael's hand and covers it with his own, presses it down on the pillow between them, wrist up.

Michael's eyes track the movement, both of them watching their hands touch each other; Luke's fingers dipping into the tender hollow of Michael's palm. Michael curls his hand closed around Luke's and Luke's fingers slip between Michael's, interlocking. It looks nice and it feels good. He wants Michael to kiss him again, he realises.

Luke's a cuddly guy, but he wasn't always. It was a slow, steady journey to the way he doesn't think twice about snuggling up with the boys now. It's weirder if they're not cuddled close, really, but this. Luke tries to tell himself it's just a cuddle, a hand cuddle, and the kisses they've shared are just cuddles for mouths. It's unconvincing even to himself. He wonders what Michael thinks about it, about holding hands with him like this, waking up in bed together. About how Luke wants him to kiss him again. He swallows, and tries to form the words in his head and throat, but he can't, and it's unsettling. He's always been able to ask Michael anything.

Luke shakes his hand out of Michael's warm grip, looking away when Michael tries to meet his eyes. "My alarm went off. Gotta get ready for writing," he mumbles.

The hurt look on Michael's face is just more confusing. He's really doing him a favour by trying to keep his weird feelings to himself, Michael's dealing with enough already. He doesn't want to make things worse for him. Michael tucks his arms around his chest and rolls away. "Okay," he says, "don't wake me up."

But he's still awake when Luke comes back from the shower looking for a clean shirt to steal from Michael's suitcase. Luke's surprised to see him sitting there at the end of his bed, still shirtless, scrolling through his phone. He's just in his pants himself, and he blushes when Michael catches him peering around the corner of the door, trying to sneak in.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" Luke asks.

Michael shrugs, not looking up. Without obvious objection it has to be permission, so Luke pushes the door open and tries not to be too self-conscious as he crosses to Michael's case. He grabs the first t-shirt he sees, pulls it on and turns to leave.

"Not that one," Michael says, and Luke pauses, looking down at the shirt. It's just a black t-shirt, nothing special, and it smells kind of like Mikey so it's not even a super clean one. Easier than having an argument over it though, Luke takes it off and grabs another one.

"No," Michael says as Luke turns to face him in the second shirt, "that's my favourite."

"Well, I promise I'll look after it," Luke says. Michael just gives him a hard look and Luke dodges, makes for the door, but Michael stops him, scrambling up off the bed to stand in Luke's way, stance square and chest puffed out in challenge. Luke's still got an inch or so on him, no matter how tall he tries to make himself.

"Take it off, it's mine, choose a different one," he demands.

"It doesn't even matter," Luke says, resisting as Michael tugs at the shirt, shoving the hem down with his fists as Michael tries to pull it up.

"You're stretching it, stop it!"

"It's just a shirt!" Luke twists away, but Michael grabs him around the waist, hands grabbing at the fabric. Luke's almost scared he's going to rip it. "Lemme go," Luke huffs.

"Take off my fucking shirt!" Michael snaps, real anger in his voice sudden and strange, unsettling so when Michael shoves him hard he cries out and goes sprawling back onto Michael's bed.

"Fine," Luke snaps and tries to push back up but Michael jumps on him, sitting heavy on his waist. "You can have it, alright. Get off," Luke says, squirming under him, pinned and pushing at Michael's thighs until Michael grabs his wrists and pins them too, shoved down hard against the mattress.

Michael's breathing kind of quick, bent over Luke to hold him there, his face flushed and eyes wide. Luke stills, looking back at him, and realises just how hard his heart is thumping in his chest.

Michael's eyes dart over Luke's face, squeezing Luke's wrists. Luke raises his chin, defiant, he could free himself, he's stronger than Michael even on a bad day, but something in him tells him to wait this out.

He gives his hips a weak shove that barely rocks Michael and Michael's eyes flicker. "Take it off," he says, voice dropped low, the sound of it hitting Luke right in his tummy, making him gasp.

"Are you guys fighting?" Michael startles. It's Calum, standing in the doorway.

"No," they say quickly, in unison. Michael rolls off to the side with a sheepish look and Luke gets up, touching his own wrists where Michael's hands had held on so tight.

"Michael was winning," Calum comments as Luke shuffles past him out the door.

...

The second day of writing with Alex and John is less laid back than the first. It's like a switch has been flipped and the smoothies and tug-o-war matches with Kuma of yesterday are replaced with strictly business only. Luke supposes that's what has made John and Alex so successful, they know when not to fuck around. Luke just tries to keep up with the rapid fire of ideas, manages to contribute a few of his own, but mostly just does what he's told, singing lines when asked, riffing harmonies with Calum on his lyrics.

By the time they're done Luke's exhausted and he can tell Calum is as well by the way they stay quiet and still on the ride back to the house and go their separate ways once inside, needing space to decompress. Luke opens the fridge in search of a snack to take up to his room, and an arm wraps around his waist, body presses against his back. Luke can tell from the feel of him that it's Michael's chin hooked over his shoulder.

Luke hates how his body tenses against Michael's, an automatic reaction to the strange new confusing feelings Luke's just not used to dealing with yet, and was accorded a nice reprieve from with the intensity of the writing session to distract him. Michael's his best friend. This should be simple.

"Missed you," Michael mumbles. It's like he'd been waiting for him, lurking around the corner waiting to attack Luke with confusing feelings as soon as his vulnerable back was turned. "How was writing?" he asks, which is innocuous enough, but his hand strokes Luke's tummy through his shirt, warm and seeking lower. It's just a cuddle but it sets every part of Luke on edge.

"Yeah, good," he says, attempting casual but his voice wavers. He coughs to try and cover it and reaches for a banana, just a regular guy getting a snack. Totally. He backs up to close the fridge and Michael slips away. Luke summons his strength and most normal of facial expressions and turns to face him.

Michael's dressed up. Well, it's his day off and he's not in his underwear and his hair isn't greasy, so it's remarkable. "Me and Ash met some girls today, they invited us to a party," he says.

"You're going out?" Luke asks, wanting to whine for Michael to stay even though every second with him is confusing torture. He'd rather that than be apart.

"Come with us," Michael says, bumping off the counter behind him and reaching for the hem of Luke's shirt, tugging. He doesn't seem to care about stretching his favourite shirt out now, and Luke considers making a comment about it, but decides not to. To let it go. Michael's begging him with his eyes, pouting, and Luke's so weak. "Please?" Michael asks and Luke's exhausted, but he says yes.

Michael grins, so obviously pleased with Luke's giving in and steps back. Luke straightens the hem of his t-shirt. "Should I change?" he asks, cracking the banana skin and peeling it back.

"No," Michael says and turns to go, his attention already elsewhere now that he's gotten what he wants. Luke hops up onto the bench and almost chokes on a mouthful of banana when Michael throws him a smile before ducking out of the room and says, "my shirt looks great on you."

...

Luke drinks too much too quick, he's hungry and tired and it hits him hard. He leaves Calum ensconced by girls and beers in the kitchen and goes in search for Michael.

There's a lot of girls at the party, a lot of beer too. Luke likes both but he just wants Mikey. Luke's never been great at parties, he drinks and then he just wants attention and touch and always ends up doing something embarrassing to get it. He's aware of this even as he ducks through the living room and down the hall, looking for Michael. He can't get himself into trouble with Michael, can he? No worse than, well the other night in the pool. Luke wouldn't mind that kind of trouble, he wouldn't mind kissing Michael again. It's just kissing. He's drunk and Michael's _so_ good at it.

He finds him by the stairs, talking to a pretty girl with long, brown hair. Luke stumbles, trying to stop short but fails and bumps into him and then just follows it through, wraps his arms around Michael's waist. "Found you," he mumbles, ducking his smile against Michael's shoulder.

"Hi Luke," Michael laughs and puts an arm around his back, patting his spine. Luke nuzzles in, seeking Michael's warmth and smell, his skin. He thinks about waking up with him, how close they were. It was so nice. Why aren't they in bed now? Why aren't they always in bed? They could play shows from bed. They wouldn't even have to wear pants.

"Bed," Luke says, but Michael ignores him, saying something to the girl, which is totally frustrating. Luke's trying to, trying to do _something_ , here. He let him kiss him even though Michael likes someone who isn't him. Luke doesn't like that. Maybe it's this girl? He peers at her and she glances nervously at him, laughs at something Michael says. He just wants all of Michael's attention. He never wants Michael to talk to anyone else ever again, much less pretty girls at parties.

Luke finds the hem of Michael's shirt and pushes his hand underneath, stroking the warm bare skin of his hip. His skin is so soft, god Luke just loves the feel of it, it's the best when they cuddle without pants, without shirts. It always seemed kind of strange, like they weren't supposed to, but it makes so much sense now - it's a cuddle but warmer, softer. What could be wrong about that?

Luke sighs and edges his fingers under the the waistband of Michael's jeans where it's digging into his skin and Michael shrugs at him, says his name, but Luke ignores him. Luke can ignore people too. He clings tighter, rubs his nose against Michael's throat and then kisses him there. He just wants to taste a little.

"Would you get off," Michael snaps, suddenly tense, his hand fisting in Luke's shirt and pulling him back. Luke frowns, and grabs for Michael again but Michael pushes him away. It hurts and Luke can't keep it from showing on his face. Michael's girl looks between them with a frown, a cautious smile. Luke's cheeks heat with embarrassment. God, he's done it again.

Michael takes a step closer to her, which is a step away from Luke. "Fuck off, Luke," he laughs, like it's a joke. It's all a joke. Luke drops his eyes.

"Sorry," he says, and stumbles away to find Ashton or Calum or a bottle to drown himself in.

...

Calum's much more accommodating of Luke's drunken cling, only smiling fondly when Luke loops his arms around his neck and presses his nose to his shoulder. Calum doesn't feel like Michael, when Luke touches Calum he doesn't want more, but, and maybe because of that, Calum is wonderful, and Luke loves him a lot.

Not much is making sense to Luke any more, though little ever did. He's had more to drink, which was dumb. "Everyone hates me," he mumbles sulkily into Calum's shoulder, swaying a bit. He certainly hates himself. Maybe he'll write a song about that, it'll be called I Hate Myself, I'm An Idiot, it'll sell millions and then Michael will forgive him and want to kiss him again.

Luke can't believe he's in love with Michael.

"Oi," Calum says, hand on Luke's hip squeezing, steadying him. Luke loves him so much.

"Love you, Cal," Luke tells him, because it's simple and easy and not confusing at all. Maybe he just loves _everyone_. He kisses Calum's cheek.

"I love you too," Calum giggles, shifting his weight to lean against Luke, his hand stroking up Luke's spine to bury into the back of Luke's hair, give him a rub. It feels nice, probably because Calum's the best person in the entire world, and certainly the only person of value at this party.

Luke sighs and drops his arms from around Calum, lets his head roll against his shoulder."Can we go home?" he asks. There's less people to make a drunken fool of himself in front of there, and he kind of really wants to have a crack at that song. The first verse will be about how stupid it is to kiss your best friend.

"Yeah, I'm tired," Calum agrees, reaching between them and for a hot second Luke thinks maybe he's going for his dick but no, actually, he's just pulling his phone from his pocket. Luke pouts and presses his crotch against Calum's hip. Not that he like, particularly wants Calum to touch his dick, but someone touching his dick would be nice. For once. Probably that girl is going to touch Michael's dick. Luke sighs. "Come on," Calum says, patting Luke's shoulder, "let's go wait for the taxi."

Out the front, Ashton appears. He has no shoes but Luke's really glad to see him. He stumbles over to where Luke and Cal are sat on the curb and Luke wraps his arms around his legs.

"Where are you shoes, bro?" Calum laughs while Luke clings. Ashton giggles and hops around, half trying to shake Luke off, half trying to drag him across the footpath.

"I can't believe you fuckers were going to leave without me," Ashton grumbles. Luke lets him go, but only so he can reach up and grab at his thighs, unbalancing him until Ashton squawks and topples down onto them.

He wraps his arms around Ashton's middle now conveniently in his lap and says, "M'sorry, Ash."

"Aw," Ashton coos, squirming free and rolling away, flat on his back on the road in front of them.

"You're gonna get hit by a car," Calum says, even though there's exactly zero traffic this late this deep in the suburbs. He smacks Ashton's shoulder anyway, which gets him off the road at least, scrambling up to hit him back. Luke sways out of the way. His bandmates are so scrappy. " Ow," Calum flinches, but he's smiling. "Where's Mike?"

"Oof," Ashton says, plonking himself down on Calum's other side. Luke watches him wiggle his weird long toes on the concrete. "I'm too old for this, boys."

Calum elbows him. "Shut up, you're nineteen."

"I used to party all night," Ashton says wistfully, tucking his knees up and resting his chin on them. "Like Michael, Michael's still going strong. He's got a _babe_ even, and here I am, with you two losers."

"Hey," Calum objects, shoving his shoulder against Ashton's, who just shoves right back, the three of them knocking back and forth perched on the curb like the dumbest, drunkest Newton's cradle.

"Bros before," Luke mumbles sulkily, but can't bring himself to say hoes, because he's sure she's actually really nice.

...  
They get home and Luke drinks probably a litre of water and then just collapses onto his bed and stays there. He's not sure how long he's there for, he dozes, not quite ready to pass out yet, too caught up in the need to undress and his inability to summon the energy to do so.

He jerks awake when he hears a crash, close, someone in the room. His heart beats hard. He doesn't want to die drunk. He rolls onto his back and sees Michael on the floor by the dresser. "Fuck off," Michael hisses at the phone charger he tripped over.

Luke's surprised to see him. He wonders how long it's been. He wonders where his girl is. Michael heaves himself up and staggers towards Luke's bed, drunk zombie style. He looks sweaty, wasted.

"You're really drunk," Luke tells him. Michael collapses onto the foot of Luke's bed, flops over and drags himself up to crawl up beside him.

"No," Michael shakes his head and clutches his hands in the front of Luke's shirt.

"Where's," but Luke can't make himself ask, he doesn't want to bring up a girl, not with Michael staring at him, licking his lips.

"Wanna kiss you."

Just the words muttered low make Luke's tummy flip, of course he can't deny him. Michael leans in. It's sloppy. Michael tastes of alcohol and sugar, tongue all syrup slow pushing into Luke's mouth. Luke loves it, his head still swimming drunk, he moans.

Michael crawls on top of him, the weight of his body heavy and sure, pressing Luke down onto his back as he kisses him bruisingly hard. Luke just can't think, can't breathe, Michael's taking everything from him. Luke wants him to have it.

His heart is beating so hard. Michael touches his chest, fists his shirt and tugs at it, groaning as he runs his tongue along Luke's teeth, bites his bottom lip and tugs.

Michael's kissing him and all he can think is _I'm in love with you, I'm in love with you_.

"Michael," Luke gasps, surprised by the scraped raw wrecked sound of his own voice.

"Fuck, yeah?" Michael replies, just as low and hoarse. He pushes his hands up under Luke's shirt and Luke shivers. It feels so good, Michael's hands on him, on his skin.

Now Luke has to actually say something.

"You don't want me," he says. It comes out a lot more mournful than Luke means it to. Michael presses his mouth against Luke's but Luke doesn't kiss him back, unsettled. Michael doesn't want him. Michael wants someone else, there's someone else. How could Michael ever want him?

Michael kisses his jaw, and then his throat, hot smudges of his mouth there. Luke shudders, he's turned on, he wants to have sex. He wants Michael to love him back.

"Shut up," Michael mumbles, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of Luke's throat, "just let me-"

Just let him, just let it happen. Luke's not dumb enough for this. "Michael," he says and pushes at his shoulder. This needs to stop. It's going to far, Luke's going to end up fucked and heartbroken and the whole band will go to shit.

Michael doesn't respond, just keeps kissing Luke's throat, pushing his hands further under Luke's shirt, stroking at his ribs, his chest. It feels so good, Luke can't help arching under Michael's hands, his head tipped back, baring his throat for him. His skin feels hot and tender under Michael's mouth, bruised. Marked by Michael. Luke shudders at the thought.

Michael groans and shifts against Luke, pressing more fully against him, and Luke can feel that he's hard just as clearly as he knows he is himself. Fuck, Michael's rubbing it against him, pulling back and pushing Luke's shirt up. Luke's too dazed to do anything but let him take it off.

It hits Luke suddenly, the sadness. Lying there under Michael, desperate for him to love him. Michael touches his waist and bends to kiss Luke's bare chest, it's sweet. Luke squeezes Michael's shoulder and Michael looks up at him, almost unrecognisable with the heat in his eyes, his mouth kiss-bruised and swollen.

"Mikey, I can't," Luke says, though it kills him. Michael frowns, hesitates, pushing his hair out of his face and leaning up to press his mouth hard against Luke's again. Luke turns away, Michael's lips dragging against his cheek.

"You want me," Michael says, low and rough, and grabs between Luke's legs, rubbing at the shape of Luke's hard cock in his pants. Luke gasps through gritted teeth, hips jerking against Michael's hand. "See."

Luke shakes his head. It's so hard not to give in with Michael fumbling the button of his jeans, a new unsteadiness to his hand, something like desperation there. It's so fucked up. Luke can't be just another warm body for Michael, he can't. "Stop it," Luke says and shoves him hard enough, finally, to push him away. To make him stop.

Michael slumps, pink cheeked and wide eyed. He looks devastated and Luke feels so guilty, grabs for his shirt where Michael discarded it beside them and pulls it back on, hides under it.

"Luke, I," Michael says and Luke just shakes his head.

"It's fine." Maybe saying it will make it true.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Michael's voice has gone croaky. Luke wants to hug him, even still. Comfort him. He's his best friend. They can't let this ruin them.

"It's okay," Luke tries to tell him but Michael's rolling off the bed and slipping away, out of the room without another word, another look, the door clicking shut gently behind him.

Luke falls back and squeezes his eyes closed so tight it hurts. He feels sick, and probably just as heartbroken as he would have if he'd let it happen. He may as well have slept with him, even though Michael would be thinking about someone else the entire time.

At least he isn't hard anymore, though when he looks down and sees his jeans undone his cock gives a hopeful little twitch at the memory of Michael's hand there. Luke sighs and pushes his hand into his open fly, fingers slipping under his pants and curling around his cock. He shouldn't think about Michael when he does this.

He tries to think about girls. About girls back home he's been with, but Michael was always there too, third wheeling and throwing stuff at them when they kiss. Celebrities aren't any safer. Megan Fox's boobs just make him think of Jennifer's Body, of watching it with Michael in the dark, and the then-inexplicable tightness in his chest when Michael told him about how the kissing scene got him hard. What if they'd kissed then? Like in the movie, two best friends in Michael's room. Luke's never thought about it before, but he wishes they had.

Luke's mind runs away with it, and he takes his cock in his hand proper, shoving his jeans out of the way. He's hard again just thinking about them back then, strokes his cock and imagines kissing Michael the way he caught him kissing Geordie once, flat on her back on Michael's bed, Michael's hand up her skirt. Imagines Michael's hand on his cock instead of his own. Luke moans, just the same as Geordie did, turns his face to bite the pillow and muffle it.

Would Michael come back if he heard him? Luke half wants him to, wants Michael to catch him like this, jerking himself off thinking about him. Luke strokes his cock faster, closes his eyes and tries to remember the weight of Michael's body, the warmth of his hands on his skin, the liquor-sweet taste of his mouth.

Luke comes, silent and tense, wishing Michael was there to kiss him.

...

Luke feels wrecked. He looks wrecked, deep, dark circles under his eyes reflected back at him in the bathroom mirror. He's never drinking again. Well, just maybe not until he's actually of legal drinking age. Maybe then he'll be old enough not to make a stupid drunk mess of everything. He's scared of facing Michael, scared of having to get work done when he feels so thrown. It's like he doesn't even know himself. Everything's different, he's doubting every moment he's ever spent with Michael. Every cuddle and smile and sweet exchanged word.

It's all too much. The dark bruise on his throat is way, way too much. Calum pokes it and says, "I don't remember you hooking up."

"I was really drunk," Luke mumbles, embarrassed, tugging at the collar of his shirt to try and hide it.

Life goes on, but Luke feels frozen in slow motion. He sticks to Calum like glue, but he doesn't need a buffer, Michael avoids him for days, until they're all rounded up and taken to the studio together to record. Even then Michael keeps his eyes down and his hood up. He's skittish like a baby animal. Luke feels helpless and sad.

Ashton's tracking drums. Luke sits on the couch and taps his water bottle against his chin. They're working on The Only Reason and his throat feels strained, both it and his heart sore from singing Michael's words over and over. It's sounding good, and it's probably only because Luke's mood has added to the vibe of the vocals that Ashton and Calum put up with the tension, the silence.

Michael sits down next to him. Not too close, but it's something. Luke's heart immediately picks up, he's too scared to look at him. "It sounds sadder than I thought it would," Michael says and Luke almost jumps out of his skin.

"Yeah," he replies and turns to face him, finds him looking back. Fuck, he misses him. They just look at each other, long and steady. Luke swallows. Michael looks tired and pale, small in his big hoody. Luke knows he wears them when he feels too exposed, sensitive. "Who's it about, Mikey?"

Michael smiles softly and looks away, down at his knees as he draws them up, shifts his body around to stretch his legs out over Luke's lap. "You," he says, so quiet Luke almost doesn't hear it.

"Oh," Luke says, a hot flush racing through him. What? He fidgets, lays his hand carefully on Michael's thigh, looking and trying to find the joke in Michael's profile, a playful curve of his mouth, anything. Michael turns to look at him again, meets his eyes for a moment, and Luke knows it's as true and real as anything Michael ever confessed in the vulnerable warmth of a shared bed.

"Yeah," Michael says and breathes out, long and deep like he's been holding it. He lays his head against the back of the couch. Luke's hand feels obvious and wrong on Michael's thigh now, his fingers twitch, and he strokes him a bit, just to work out the awkwardness, scratches his nails along the ridged seam of his jeans.

He doesn't know what to say.

...

They finish the song and get copies loaded onto each other their phones before they leave the studio. Luke sits in the living room with his headphones in, listening to it over and over as the sun sets and the empty house gets dark around him. His eyes burn, squinting against the glare from his phone as he sets the song back to the beginning.

The boys are out, Liz too. They all went out to celebrate, but Luke just couldn't. He might not ever eat again. His head feels so full, stuffed up and heavy with confusion, trying to understand, figure out what Michael meant when he said the lyrics he wrote were about him. He just keeps thinking about the conversation they had; _maybe they don't like me back_. Luke's hands clench into fists.

A light turns on in the entry way, the dull glow lighting the living room. Luke pulls an ear phone out and hears the front door close. They're back, he should go up to his room so they don't find him sulking here in the dark like a weirdo. He stands and turns and comes face to face with Michael, just Michael, standing silhouetted by golden light in the doorway. Luke freezes.

"Where's the others?" He asks, mouth dry as he tugs the other earphone out.

"You have to say something," Michael says. "I told you and you didn't say anything."

Luke swallows. He still doesn't know what to say but the tremble in Michael's voice makes him ache to. He wants to comfort him. He knows how he feels, he knows how Michael feels, but there's a million reasons it can't be right.

"You _said_ I should _tell you_ ," Michael says. The round slump of his shoulder shrinks smaller as he wraps his arms around himself.

"Mikey," Luke says.

"I know you don't," Michael pauses, swallows, "whatever, I just. It doesn't have to fuck us up, okay?"

"I do," Luke says, sudden and strong, the words bursting out of his throat.

Michael's arms drop by his sides. "What?"

"I don't know," Luke's voice cracks and he coughs, drops his phone on the couch and presses his fists to his thighs. He feels stupid, stuck, terrified. This is so much worse than performing in front of thousands. They're just standing there, half a room away from each other.

"You made me stop," Michael says faintly, "you don't want me like that."

"You don't want _me_ like that," Luke says, and then laughs, because it's ridiculous. They've been so stupid.

"Don't fucking _laugh_ ," Michael cries, but Luke can hear an incredulous hint of a smile in it. He feels crazy, adrenaline rushing through him. "Shut up, oh my god."

Luke bites his lip, wants to punch himself in the face, but he says, "make me."

"Oh my god," Michael mutters again. "I can't believe I like you," he shakes his head, "holy shit. Luke."

"I know," Luke laughs, and then it's easy. Simple. He crosses the space between them and Michael reaches for him, pulls him close with unsteady hands. "I like you too," Luke says, his tummy flipping and chest fizzing full, ready to explode.

"I hate you," Michael says with a smile. Luke grins and Michael kisses him.

...

Upstairs, on Luke's bed, they undress one another, giggly and fumbly in their eagerness. They don't talk, there's nothing left to say right now. Luke pulls Michael on top of him and feels his naked skin against his own, feels Michael's cock full and hard and hot against his hip, his moan against his mouth.

Michael doesn't stop kissing him for a second, and Luke's glad. They've wasted years not kissing. It's like Michael can't touch him enough, stroking Luke's thighs and waist and chest. Luke's so hard, can only groan when Michael lifts up and looks down between them, drags his cock against Luke's and then wraps his hand around the both of them.

"Mikey," Luke gasps and Michael looks at him, eyes dark and wide.

He leans up, strokes their cocks, kisses Luke's mouth, and says, "Say that again." Luke moans, his hips stuttering up and thighs shifting apart better to fuck Michael's hand. He gets it, he can't believe they're doing this either.

"Michael," he croaks, bites his lip, and Michael kisses him hard.

"If I could stop kissing you I'd suck you off," he mumbles and Luke shudders, feels so close. "Are you gonna come?"

Luke nods and Michael swears, lets his own cock go to stroke Luke's properly, hand moving quick and grip tight, slick with their pre-come. Luke wraps his arm around Michael's shoulders and pulls him down against him, whimpers and presses his face against Michael's throat and comes, the taste of Michael's sweat on his tongue.

"Oh my god," Michael gasps, rutting desperately against Luke's hip. Luke fumbles a shaking hand down and touches him weakly, rubs his thumb over Michael's slit and then Michael comes too, slumping heavy on top of Luke, mouth open against Luke's collarbone, panting.

...

"Did you tell them you were coming home to have sex with me?" Luke asks, blushing. Michael hustles him into the shower and then follows after him. The warm water flattens Luke's hair to his head, runs down his back and tummy, rinsing come their skin. They're both smeared with it. Michael presses against him, warm, wet chest against Luke's.

"Shut up," Michael frowns, it's so familiar but the way he kisses Luke's mouth after he says it isn't, and it's thrilling. Luke touches Michael's bare waist and kisses him back. "I said I was tired," Michael mumbles.

"I'm tired," Luke says. Michael pulls away and grabs some shampoo, Calum's fancy girly stuff. He hands it to Luke and leans against his chest.

"Me too, wash my hair," he pouts. Luke does as he's told, trying to ignore the way his mind is racing ahead already. What are they going to tell them? What even is there to tell? Michael hums as Luke massages shampoo into his scalp, head tipped back and eyes closed. Luke presses his mouth against Michael's throat just because he can, and it calms him.

Luke rinses the soap from Michael's hair, carefully making sure the foam doesn't dribble down his face and get in his eyes, and then keeps touching him, rubbing his hands down his shoulders and chest, washing the last smears of come from his tummy and thighs. He feels shy about touching Michael's cock but he makes himself, fingers gently stroking it, feeling the soft weight of it in his hand.

"Mm," Michael hums and opens his eyes, looks at him, "do you want to have sex again?"

Luke's face cracks into a grin. "Yes," he laughs. Michael presses him against the tile and kisses him breathless.

...

Later, in bed, warm and clean and exhausted, Luke takes Michael's hand and holds it on purpose. They both know what it means now. Luke feels too excited to sleep, just holding Michael's hand like this seems so crazy and thrilling. He took it for granted for so long. He rubs his thumb over Michael's knuckles.

His mouth feels numb and swollen, he's never kissed someone so much in his life. Michael's a great kisser, Luke can't wait to kiss him again. There's a noise downstairs, and then Ashton hollering their names.

Michael's drooping eyelids open wide. "They're home," Luke says dumbly. He can hear them bouncing up the stairs. Michael wiggles down the bed a little, further under the covers, closer to Luke.

"Pretend we're asleep," he whispers. Luke laughs and clutches Michael's hand tight and closes his eyes.

The door pushes open and the light switches on. Luke and Michael stay as still as possible.

"Goddamnit," Ashton mutters and Luke grins, so pleased to share this secret with Michael. To be in on the big joke for once.

"I guess they made up then," Calum says. The light turns off again and Luke relaxes. It wouldn't look weird at all to Ash and Cal that they're tucked up in bed together. Jesus, they've loved each other so long. Michael blinks at Luke and leans in slow, kisses him sweetly and then rolls over, wiggling back against Luke and tugging his arm around him.

Luke presses close, it feels so good, holding Mikey tight like this. He kisses his shoulder. "Night Mikey."

Michael hums in response, presses their linked hands against his chest. Sleep comes easy.

...

Luke doesn't know if they were supposed to be keeping it a secret but if they were their cover is totally blown two days later when they kiss in front of Ashton, Calum, and thousands of people during a twitcam.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback always appreciated <3
> 
> nina


End file.
